


BREAK!

by AshNine



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Celebrities, Crack, Crack Relationships, Crushes, Eventual Romance, Exhaustion, F/M, Fluff, Idols, Kinda?, Mutual Pining, Not Creepy Though, Obsession, Paparazzi, Romance, Slice of Life, Stalking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-06-10 05:18:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15284517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshNine/pseuds/AshNine
Summary: "And here she was, the frontwomen, very elegantly vomiting all over herself, while being half carried-half drug inside by a guy in his pajamas, in front of his house in the suburbs. Rantaro did not sign up for this."





	1. Tuesday

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to BREAK!, a fanfic with a pairing requested by [Sayaka Scoot!](https://aminoapps.com/c/danganronpa/page/user/deg-sayaka-scoot-deg/L2E3_J5nhYfwW1eMndM4rrGw1pLJ45Kr2Wl)
> 
> I was a little confused at first of how to approach this, but remembered a book I read some years ago about a fed up Rockstar and a girl who was in the right place at the right time and thought it would be a fun idea to build off of. I'm not sure how long this is going to end up being, but it's definitely going to be more than 2 chapters. We'll see what I come up with!
> 
> I hope you like my new crack child, Rantaro x Sayaka in BREAK!
> 
>  
> 
> [Cover Art](https://pm1.narvii.com/6888/2e68017d246ed4bbba4185d953ba553ea1654029r1-1024-768v2_hq.jpg)

Mornings weren’t Rantaro’s forte. If he had it his way, he’d be up until the sun peeked over the horizon, then taking the world coming to life as his sign to get the hell to bed. As a freelance travel journalist, this was possible for the lime green haired man to get away with; just write your article at night, then send it right before you go to bed. Then you can review your editor’s remarks when you wake up, make the much-needed changes, and then resend it back, all in one day.

However, today wasn’t working as planned. Rantaro found himself tossing and turning in his bed long past his usual sleep hours, the clock next to his bed reading 10:13 AM. Ugh. There was no way he could convince himself to lay in bed any longer. Rolling out of his blankets, the greenette stood up and stretched his arms above his head, his joints unfolding from hours of sleepless lying about. With heavy feet, Rantaro slipped on his house shoes and plodded over to the kitchen to make himself coffee, mentally preparing for a day of running on autopilot.

The steady drip of the machine almost lulled the man to sleep, as he absently stared at the dark liquid pooling into the pitcher. Of course, now once he was awake and committed to his day, then and only then he’d crave the sweet embrace of sleep. Just his luck.

After pouring himself the life juice, not bothering to add sugar or creamer, he made his way to the front door, slippers scuffling on the wooden flooring. The mail was usually delivered by now, wasn’t it? With a creek, the front door was pulled open and Rantaro stepped outside, only to find not his mail, but something quite odd laying on his front lawn.

\---

Sayaka didn’t really remember much. The young idol vaguely recalled leaving her show late in the evening, before piling on to the tour bus. From there she remembered Satomi getting into an argument with Ayaka and... that was it. All she knew at this moment was her head was killing her, the sunlight causing her brain to scream every time she opened her eyes, and felt so, so nauseous. Was she hungover? Sayaka had never been drunk to the point of being hungover before, so with her fuzzy thoughts, she figured that was it. Yes, Sayaka was hung over.

This just meant figuring out where she was. Eyes shut tight, an arm over the overly sensitive blinkers, she felt the area around the ground underneath her with her free hand. She was laying in grass? Soft to the touch, she figured she was in a planter of some sort, the greenery under her alive and uniformly trim. Feeling sloppily around her, she didn’t feel anything else. Just more grass.

What she’d gathered up to this point was she got drunk last night and was now in someone’s planter. Perfect. Way to be a good role model there, Maizono. It took her a moment to register that she was being moved. Large hands had gripped her underarms, lifting her slightly upright, before pulling her across the what she now realized was not a planter, but a lawn. Her feet dragging, the idol let out a groan, trying to form words but ultimately failing. She had planned on asking, “Where am I? Who are you?” but it was more like uuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

This situation couldn’t get more embarrassing, right? Wrong. One moment she was being pulled across the lawn and the next she was vaguely aware of a warm substance on her chest and-

Oh god. She just vomited.

\---

It’s not every day one of your former upperclassmen and your favorite idol appears on your lawn. The celebrity was a beautiful disaster, her blue hair fanned out around her head like a crown. He had never really spoken to Sayaka, choosing to just admire her from afar. He’d be lying if he claimed he hadn’t been to her concerts, not just in Japan, but other countries while on his travels. Surely business...right? He wasn’t obsessed or anything, but he was a large fan, keeping up with ‘Cherry Yume’ was a guilty pleasure of his.

And here she was, the frontwomen, very elegantly vomiting all over herself, while being half carried-half drug inside by a guy in his pajamas, in front of his house in the suburbs. Rantaro did not sign up for this.

Setting Sayaka down on her side as gently as possible, as to not choke the poor idol on her own stomach remains, Rantaro thought for a moment. He couldn’t exactly take her inside now as is, but he couldn’t leave her there. Wanting to get this taken care of as quick as possible, worrying slightly about his neighbors coming out to see a very precarious event unfolding on his property, Rantaro slid off his t-shirt and used it to wipe off Sayaka as best as possible. In retrospect, this was a terrible decision, because now instead of a passed out, vomit covered idol being drug into a weird guy’s house, the situation had escalated to a passed out, vomit covered idol being drug into a weird _shirtless_ guy’s house. Rantaro would be very surprised if the police were not alerted at some point during this interaction.

With Sayaka as best as a dry t-shirt could manage, Rantaro continued to pull the now unconscious girl into his house, setting her down on the rug in his living room, but not so far on as to subject it to her potential puke. Running a hand through his hair, the greenette sighed. What do you do when you have someone very obviously hungover, unconscious in your living room, when they so happen to be one of the biggest faces in the pop industry?

You go the hell back to bed.

\---

When Sayaka came to, she noticed she was no longer on someone’s front lawn, but instead staring eye to eye with some green haired dude. This particular man sat on a couch in front of her, his head resting on his hand, which was propped up on his knee. That face was pulled into a scowl, his eyes blank while the corners of his mouth drooped. Needless to say, he didn’t look very amused.

Opening her mouth to speak, Sayaka was stopped by a hand being held up, motioning her to pause. That same hand pointed to the coffee table next to her, where a tall glass of water sat on a cork coaster, the condensation leaving a dark ring around the base. Propping herself up on her elbow, he reached out desperately, grasping the cup and bringing it to her lips, gulping down the cool liquid and not caring about the drops that spilled down the side of her face. When it was half empty, she sat it back down on the coaster, then sitting up crisscross applesauce. In the process, she noticed the front of her shirt sticking to her, a faint sour smell wafting from the fabric. Oh. That’s right. She threw up.

With an equally blank face, the idol stared at the man in front of her. He was tall; that much was obvious even when he was sitting down. Piercings decorated his ears, nearly dozens of hoops framing the cartilage of his right one. His hair was a lime green, tousled and unruly, like he had just rolled out of bed. To top it all off, he was shirtless.

Goodness, just what did she _do_ last night?

The man was the first to break the silence. Without really changing his expression, his deep voice cut through the air to simply ask,

“Head hurt?”

Sayaka tilted her head, the motion sending another pang through her brain. Yes. Very much so. With a silent nod, she answered truthfully, having no reason to lie. Oddly enough, she was rather calm in this situation, knowing if she’d been kept captive or something or the sort, he wouldn’t exactly be leaving her on the floor untied within running distance of the front door.

With a small grunt, the man rose to his feet, pushing himself off his knees. Yes, as Sayaka initially thought, he was easily half a foot taller than herself. With a shuffling of his slippers, the greenette disappeared into what she could assume was a bathroom. After a moment of rustling and what sounded like pill bottles clanking together, he returned with a white box in hand. Gently taking it from his grasp, she inspected the pills, seeing average, run of the mill painkillers. Breaking open the blister pack, she tossed a couple into her mouth, chasing it down with another swig of water.

With that taken care of, Sayaka looked around to find that he had disappeared again. With effort, the girl rose to her unsteady feet, feeling slightly better now than earlier this morning. Peering out the window, it seemed that it was maybe around 11 or 12, the sun not at its peak but rather high in the sky. So really, she’d been knocked out for less than an hour. The pad of his feet pulled her attention from the window and back to the now fully clothed male, who held another shirt and what looked like sweatpants in his hand. Holding it out to her, he gestured to the bathroom where the pills had come from.

“Feel free to shower. There’s towels and anything else you’d need in there.”

Sayaka inspected his face, finding a sincere smile, which reached his eyes. She couldn’t help but feel like she’d seen him before. Trying her best to shake off the cobwebs remaining in her mind, she gratefully took the clothing from the man and left to de-vomit herself.

\---

So, that happened. There was now a pop idol in his bathroom, about to shower with his supplies, and then change into his clothing. Rantaro was rather surprised she was taking this so well, not really understanding how she was so calm, when he himself was shrieking on the inside. Perhaps it was the hangover headache warping her mind into trusting someone who was holding out a helping hand. Rantaro realized he felt lucky, being the one to find her. Who knows what someone would have done had they had impure intentions?

Returning to his now cold coffee, Rantaro returned to his couch, flicking on the television. The weather seemed to be the usual for an early spring day, chilly early morning with a warm afternoon. Flipping through the channels, he sank into the cushions, resting his arm on the back of the sofa. For a split second, he noticed something that caused his eyebrow to raise.

Apparently, Sayaka had been missing for three days. This was news to him. Usually, idols didn’t vanish for days and appear knocked out on someone’s lawn. Well, that was worrisome.

With a click, said idol exited his bathroom, her towel wrapped around her neck, his t-shirt fitting her small frame loosely. With a glance at the television and then back at Rantaro, she pursed her lips.

“What day is it?”

\---

How? How could Sayaka have been missing for three days when just yesterday she was at a performance in Nagasaki? She frowned at the television, which showed her crying groupmates begging for Sayaka to return, Satomi apologizing for whatever happened on that night.

“Tuesday.”

This response caused Sayaka to snap her head back to the man on the couch, who flicked off the TV and set the remote on the wooden coffee table. Sayaka shook her head, slowly at first, and then with more rigor. “No. It’s Sunday.”

With an exhale out his nose, no doubt from amusement, the male looked at her, a single green eyebrow raised. “I’m not sure what happened to you, but it is definitely Tuesday.”

Eyebrows knit together, Sayaka was now scowling. So, according to the man in front of her in conjunction with the news report, she had been missing since Saturday night, only to come to on someone’s lawn early Tuesday. No way. This had to be a joke, right?

“Who are you?” She finally asked, a question long overdue.

\---

“Rantaro Amami,” he said matter-of-fact. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

She shuffled nervously, not sure whether to introduce herself. After that, he had to know who she was, so there probably wasn’t a need to. Still, it was odd to just leave it at that. “Sayaka Maizono. Delighted.”

Awkwardly holding her elbow to her body with her arm, Sayaka averted her gaze away from Rantaro and suddenly found interest in the floorboards. Not only had she probably ruined his morning with her unconscious vomiting, she had hundreds, no, thousands of people currently worrying for her safety. What made her feel guilty? She didn’t really care.

In these past months, Sayaka wanted a break. With constant show after show, she hadn’t a moment to herself, forced to remain on that tour bus with the 4 other girls of ‘Cherry Yume’ and their manager. It wasn’t that she didn’t love them, because she did quite a bit. However, sometimes she wished she could just be at home back in her room, casually dancing around in front of her mirror and giving her stuffed animals their own personal show, or perhaps lying in bed reading fanfiction about her favorite crack ships. No, instead, she was out on stage every three days, twice on weekends, and forced to share one bathroom with 5 people. While nothing would ever beat the rush of a live show, her sea of fans screaming her name, Sayaka was still just a girl, and it just so happened that this girl was well past worn out.

Would it be so terrible to just fly under the radar for a while longer? For her mental sanity?

“Penny for your thoughts?” Rantaro’s question brought her back to the present. Glancing back over at her savior, she smiled sadly.

“I’m tired. I don’t want to go back on tour.”

“No wonder you were wasted on my lawn,” Rantaro laughed, his deep voice ringing out. “I don’t blame you. I’d be tired too.”

Sayaka felt comfortable around Rantaro. He was lax and laid back, not forcing her to leave his house or really do anything. Not to mention he’d brought her in when he really could have just called the police and left it at that. Or worse. Shaking her head, she replied:

“I feel like a brat. I’m just so exhausted, though. Being a celebrity was my dream for so long, and don’t get me wrong, I love it! But sometimes I just want to be a normal girl again, you know?”

Rantaro never looked away from her, his meadow green eyes piercing through her shield. His face was one of understanding, his lips pulled slightly to the side as he slowly nodded.

Sayaka had one question, however. “You’re not gonna send me away, right?”

As if that struck a chord with Rantaro, he scoffed slightly, his nod turning into an almost irritated looking head shake. Though, his voice was gentle, despite looking visibly annoyed. “Of course not. If you want time away, you deserve it. Though, you need to at least let your group know you’re alive.”

Sayaka couldn’t argue with that. Though there was one problem with that. “I lost my cell phone.”

Chuckling, the male rose off the couch and met Sayaka in the middle of the room. He slipped his cellphone out of his pocket and handed it over. Accepting the phone from Rantaro, Sayaka quickly dialed the number of her manager, happy that she at least had something memorized. Otherwise, she’d have to call her mother and that was not a talk she’d like to have.

After a few rings, the tone on the other line cut off with a distinct masculine voice saying, “Hello?”

“H-hey. It’s me.”

Immediately Sayaka had to pull the phone away from her ear, her manager’s hoots and hollars audible from anywhere in the room. As the man exploded, Sayaka made an awkward face to a very amused Rantaro. Gently placing the phone back by her ear, she continued the call.

“I know. I know. I’m sorry Koichi. I just called to tell you I’m safe.”

With a grunt if approval, Mr. Kizakura pulled the phone away from his face, speaking to someone else in the room for a moment before resuming his chat with Sayaka. “Well, I’m glad you’re safe kiddo. Where are you? We can have a car sent immediately.”

“I never said I was coming back.”

Silence.

“Koichi?”

“What do you mean?” The male’s voice was annoyed, his usually chipper vibe flipping a 180 and turning on its head. She didn’t blame him, however. It’s kind of hard to continue a tour when your leading lady was M.I.A.

Sayaka was firm though in her decision. Even if it was for a few days, she had to get away. She didn’t care about the tour anymore, no doubt being increasingly selfish, but what good was an idol on the verge of breaking? “I can’t continue the tour. I’m sorry. Apologize to the others for me.”

With that, she hung up the phone and passed it back to Rantaro, her hand slightly shaking. What had she just done?

\---

“Well, I suppose that settles that.” Rantaro slipped his phone back into his pajamas pants pocket, before shrugging nonchalantly. He figured it was best to leave it at that, not exactly wanting Sayaka to throw some form of diva tantrum, even though he’d never heard of her doing such. There was a first time for everything, after all. “I’ve plenty of room here, so if you need a place to crash you’re more than welcome to stay.”

Sayaka lifted her gaze from the floor and breathed a sigh of relief. With a charming smile, she thanked Rantaro, visibly relaxing. He couldn’t help but return the smile. Sayaka was just as all the blogs he read had said; while being rather plain, she was kind and courteous, not wanting to cause others problems. Even with her cutting the tour early, she visibly showed her signs of guilt, just proving her to be the honest person he imagined.

“Are you hungry? I can make us something or order take-out. Anything is fine with me,” he offered.

Eyes lighting up, Sayaka clasped her hands together, her smile going from casual sunny day to 1000 watts. “Take-out? I haven’t had something unhealthy for months. Oh please, please order us a pizza.”

With a nod of agreement, he quickly ordered the food, calling for a cheese and pepperoni. How had this poor girl not have had a single greasy meal in months? Probably that strict diet of hers she had to uphold, or so he imagined, to keep her figure as nice as it was, which Rantaro had to admit was in fact very nice.

Idly chit-chatting for a half hour or so, Sayaka on one side of the couch with Rantaro on the other, the food finally arrived. You’d think Sayaka hadn’t eaten in years, with the way she tore into the amalgamation of cheese and tomato sauce. Setting her crusts aside, the girl ate half of the pepperoni just by herself, taking a couple of slices from the cheese as well. Where was she even putting it?

After a large swallow, Sayaka hit him with a bomb of a question. “You went to Hope’s Peak, didn’t you?”

Surprised, Rantaro took a sip of his Pepsi and cleared his throat of carbonation. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

Sayaka grinned, taking another bit of pizza and chewing quickly, pleased with herself. “I knew it. You were awfully familiar. You were a year under me, weren’t you?”

“I’m shocked you’d remember that.” That much was true. “We never spoke.” That much was not.

Sayaka shook her head, setting her half-eaten slice back in the box before pulling her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Even though you’d imagine one to look vulnerable in this pose, Sayaka had a certain air of elegance to her that made it seem rather endearing, cute even. “We had that banquet my last year. You’d been top of your class and I was top of mine. You sat across from me at dinner. You told me all these stories about traveling the world. This was before I’d gone on a foreign tour, so I hadn’t experienced anything outside of Japan.”

Rantaro was astonished. Had he actually left some sort of impression on her? With a slight blush on his face, he nodded, affirming her statements. “You’re right. I’m honestly surprised you’d remember that. That was years ago, and I wasn’t exactly a large presence at school.”

“That’s not true. You knew a lot of my friends and they’d bring you up every now and then, saying you had some cool stories. I was glad when I got to hear one.”

That’s it. He was dreaming. He’d really fallen asleep this morning instead of finding this blue haired beauty on his lawn. That had to be it. No way would someone as popular and loved as Sayaka freaking Maizono remember someone as background as Rantaro Amami. He couldn’t deny that it made him feel special, however.

“Well, I’m touched that you’d remember something as small as that. You’re correct. I was a year below you, the former Ultimate Adventurer.”

“Aha. I knew it. What a coincidence! And a pleasant one, at that.”

Oh, she had no idea. Rantaro couldn’t help but be pulled into this girl’s charm, everything he remembered about her being exactly the same. Her toothy smile, her cute giggle, and her expressive blue eyes. Too late, Rantaro realized he was staring at her, and quickly averted his gaze back to the pizza, in which he picked up a slice and shoved it into his mouth. Smooth. If Sayaka had noticed his awkwardness, she didn’t let on, as she sipped on her sprite and stretched, leaning back into the couch.

Before he realized it, he was smitten with Sayaka as a person and not an idol. This is a dangerous epiphany to have while sitting a foot or so away from said beloved celebrity.

\---

Sayaka knew more about Rantaro than she let on. Back in high school, he was rather close to her ex-boyfriend, Makoto Naegi, often listening to the boy rant and rave about him. Though the three of them had never spent time together during their short-lived relationship (no worries, it ended on good terms), she very well knew who Rantaro Amami was. To no surprise, she had this realization while showering. It was the best place to think, after all.

“So, what are you up to nowadays?” Sayaka was curious about Rantaro’s life. He’d always been one to sail around with his parents to all corners of the world, so she figured he hadn’t dropped that hobby.

Rantaro answered back with a conflicted look on his face that Sayaka really didn’t understand. As soon as it appeared, it was gone. “I’m a travel journalist. I get paid to attend resorts and review them, mainly. But I also get to partake in tourist attractions wherever I go.”

Sayaka found herself leaning more towards the man as he talked. “Where have you been recently?”

There was that weird, undecipherable look again. “Germany, Poland, and France were my most recent trips.”

“Ah!” Sayaka raised a hand to her mouth, a large smile growing on her face. “I was just recently in those countries too? What about before that?”

Rantaro broke their eye contact, focusing on the wall behind her. The male then wiped his hands on his pajama pants, probably to clean them of grease. Or was he nervous? “Russia, Korea, and China.”

Sayaka tilted her head, her smile still firmly in place. “Wow, me too! Those were the locations of my last two tours.”

“Oh...really?” Rantaro let out a nervous laugh. This just confused Sayaka more, who blinked once or twice at the greenette. Was there something she was missing?

\---

Okay, remember how Rantaro wasn’t obsessed and just a casual fan? Yeah. That’s a big fat lie. He’s utter, complete ‘Cherry Yume’ trash. Goodness, and here she was asking him about his travels. How do you explain to your favorite idol that you request those locations to _see her in concert?_ You don’t. You change the subject and move on, or at least you try, going down in a fiery blaze.

“I’ll be back. I need to use the restroom.” That was also a lie.

With that, Rantaro stood up and sped walked out of the room before Sayaka could say anything. Opening the door to his room, he took a nervous look at the posters on his wall. Yep, they were all ‘Cherry Yume’, and mainly of Sayaka. And that travel job? How do you explain to your idol that you’re a paparazzi, trying to catch them in awkward moments to sell to the tabloids? You don’t. You _can’t_. Sayaka obviously trusted him enough to have requested to say a few days, so how could he possibly explain to her that he’s taken photos of them without their permission? When they’re out and about? There’s no possible way you can explain that to the person whose life you basically stalk.

If Rantaro didn’t feel terrible earlier, he sure did now.


	2. Twosday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto, Togami, and Komaru to the rescue!

“So, you’re telling me Sayaka showed up unconscious on your lawn this morning.”

“That’s right.”

“And you offered for her to stay some time at your place so she can unwind from her now canceled tour?”

“Correct.”

“But you have one bedroom.”

“Makoto, that’s not the point.”

“Alright, sorry. I’m just trying to wrap my head around this.”

“You and me both.”

The voice on the end of the line let out a certain “hmm”, as Rantaro’s go to best friend thought over the situation. Patiently waiting for advice, Rantaro sat nervously on the edge of his bed, lightly picking at a snag he’d noticed in his comforter. He hadn’t even thought of the bed situation until a moment ago, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t take the couch until the weekend. After a moment of decisive thought, Makoto broke the silence.

“So does she know? You know...about your job.” In response, Rantaro let out a slightly nervous laugh, trying his best to pass it off as confidence. However, Makoto knew him far too well and easily cut through that farce, the older of the two sighing in exasperation. “You know she’s going to find out eventually, right?”

“In an ideal situation, she’d never find out. Unless she snoops through my closet, she’s not going to find anything incriminating.”

Makoto snorted. “And on the off chance she does?”

“We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.”

“That’s not the saying.”

“I’m well aware.”

Rantaro chose to call Makoto for advice, but this was going in circles at this point. With a sigh, the greenette rubbed the bridge of his nose, thoroughly being finished with this conversation. Maybe it was just better to invite him over at this point. However, before he could proposition the idea, Makoto was already running away with some plan he had in mind, which unfortunately involved-

“Byakuya and I will be over in 15.”

Groaning, his hand fell back on to his bed, a soft thump coming from the smack of his skin against the blankets. “Does he seriously have to come?”

“Well, we were in a company meeting when you sent me your SOS text. So, yes. He’s also willing to help and you’re not in a position to deny it.” Ever since the end of high school, Byakuya, who Makoto had taken a certain liking to for whatever reason, had hired the smaller of the two to be on his marketing team, something that Makoto was strangely good at. He wasn’t the only student from Hope’s Peak that received a job from the Togami Corporation either; from what Rantaro knew, both Kyoko Kirigiri and Ibuki Mioda were also employees for Byakuya, the former working close with their lawyers and the latter in charge of the media department of advertising, occasionally dipping out for her side job of performing her “free-range rock ‘n roll”, which was just Ibuki-talk for screaming into a microphone in the middle of a field. You wouldn't really think Byakuya and Ibuki would have any sort of interaction willingly, but that's exactly how they functioned. Byakuya didn't speak to Ibuki because “Whatever she does works, so therefore I've no need to be bothered by her presence.”

Rantaro had to admit Makoto had a point. He tended to forget people had day jobs and woke up at what society deemed a reasonable time. Suckers. “Alright. I suppose I can’t argue against that. I’ll let her know you’re on your way.”

With a click, the call was ended, a small beep pinging out from his phone as he stood and shoved it back into his pocket. Alright. Room is taken care of. Not a single ounce of Cherry Yume anywhere. Just to be safe, Rantaro threw an extra blanket over his now closeted collection, hoping that on the off chance she’d go looking around, maybe the impenetrable force field that was a blanket would deter her. That worked for burglars, right?

Striding back into the living room, Sayaka looked up from her magazine, her big eyes filled with intrigue. “Feeling alright?”

“Huh…?” That’s right. You said you were going to the bathroom and were gone far too long to be normal. “Oh. Right. I’m fine. I actually got a call from Makoto. He’s on his way, just to let you know.”

Lighting up, Sayaka hopped to her feet, bouncing slightly, her dark blue hair swaying like ocean waves. Rantaro could feel his throat close slightly as perhaps being in the same room with his now legitimate crush and her ex-boyfriend, regardless of his marital status, wasn’t the ideal position to be in when trying to work on your slow burn romance. With that ever so present superstar smile, Sayaka rushed to the kitchen, much to Rantaro’s confusion, and rustled around with goodness knows what. Cups? Yeah. Sounded like cups. She eventually poked her head back into the living room, and with an amicable expression asked,

“Where do you keep your coffee?”

\---

Rantaro was a kind person, Sayaka noticed. He seemed to be going above and beyond for her, even though they’d only officially known one another for a couple of hours. Now, here he was, helping her prepare two cups of coffee for their guests, the drip of the machine background noise as the man next to her absently checked his phone, the little paps of his fingertips a cute sound effect.

This was a moment Sayaka seized, noticing the fine details of Rantaro’s face, from his sweeping lashes to the laugh lines that were present on the corners of his lips. He was handsome; his meadow green eyes and porcelain face a perfect complement to his tousled grassy hair. She traced the bridge of his nose, over the tip down to his plump lips. Really, it wasn’t fair he was so pretty. Noticing her watching him, Rantaro’s eyes shifted from his screen to hers, his face still rather blank and his eyes betraying no emotion behind them. Slightly embarrassed, Sayaka decided to pick up their conversation from earlier.

“So, you still talk to Makoto? That’s wonderful. I haven’t seen him since graduation.”

Rantaro nodded, resting his elbows on the counter behind him, making sure to lock his phone. Said blank face was now lit up with a genuine smile. “Yeah. I was his best man in the wedding.”

“Ah! So, he’s married now?” Sayaka’s hands flew to her chest, where she clasped them together in a joyous manner. That meant everything had to be going well for him, right? That's definitely good news. She'd been worried about Makoto’s denial of his sexuality and had helped him work through it, which eventually ended in their relationship simply not working out due to his realized preferences.

“Oh yeah. For about 6 months now. The bouquet was thrown directly to Mahiru and Kaito proposed on the spot. It was planned perfectly.”

“Wait, Kaito and Mahiru got together?” This was the first time she’s heard this. Though...she was rather out of the loop when it came to where her high-school classmates were.

Rantaro nodded, the smile growing on his face, a certain pride to be found in it. “I hooked them up.”

“No.” Sayaka said with a smile on her face, casting fake doubt on his claim.

“Yes.” Rantaro’s smirk grew, as he tilted his head up towards the ceiling. “He hated the idea at first, but she’s good for him. She’s responsible, but uptight. He’s fun, but scatterbrained. It evens out well. They’re set to be married soon.”

“That’s incredible, Rantaro! You’re like an Ultimate Matchmaker!"

Shaking his head, the greenette stood up and pushed off the counter, crossing the kitchen and opening a high cupboard, where he pulled out two coffee mugs. “Nah. I just know my friends.”

Sayaka wondered for a moment if he could work some magic for her. If he was able to help set up an engaged couple, then surely, he could find someone for the lonely idol that legitimately cared for her and not her fame. Unfortunately, that wasn’t wise, due to her extended tours and weeks away from home. Relationships just didn’t work when you could never stay in one place for very long. She’d learned that the hard way, recounting her many failed runs.

A well-timed knock on the door ejected her from her thoughts and had her skipping to the front entrance. Checking the peephole, a familiar messy mop of hair, a long strand sticking up and away from the others, greeted her, the boyish face under it looking a tad bit nervous. With glee, Sayaka flung the door open and hugged Makoto, a surprised ‘oof’ rising from the man, who was significantly taller than she remembered, now easily 4 inches her senior. With a laugh, he soon embraced her back, his hearty chuckle infectious.

“I haven't seen you in forever, Macutie!”

“And I haven't heard that nickname in forever, Sayaka.” She could feel Makoto smile into her hair, the warm scent of shea buttering up her nose. Pulling away, she peered more at this new Makoto, taller, and wiser looking. The bags under his eyes betrayed his stress, but the familiar twinkle in his eye was ever present, the gray peepers shining with joy as they peered back at hers.

A gruff clear of a throat had the two part, as Byakuya dragged all attention to himself. Adjusting his tie in an impatient manner, he asked: “Can we please make our way inside? I'd rather not stand here all day.” Oh, typical Byakuya.

With a nod, she led the two inside and directed them to sit on the couch. Within a moment, she was skipping away to the kitchen to fetch their coffee, gracefully carrying a small bowl of sugar cubes and a pot of powdered creamer along with her. Setting these in front of the boys, she plopped down on the floor. As the men reached for their cups, it was impossible not to notice the nearly identical wedding rings on their left hands, shiny gold against pale skin.

“So how has it been?” Sayaka prompted, aching to know more about how they were getting along. After Makoto admitted to believing he wasn’t interested in women, she had helped him confess to Byakuya, and from there, the rest was history.

Stirring 3 lumps of sugar into his coffee, Makoto tilted his head slightly. “How has what been?”

Sayaka blew a raspberry before laughing lightly. “The marriage of course. How are you two getting on?”

With a smile brighter than the sun, Makoto looked up from his coffee and dove into praises directed at his spouse. Sayaka had to admit, seeing him so happy made her heart ache, knowing she was once capable of doing so. Though she’d never say it aloud, somewhere in her heart, she’d always love Makoto. However, people change and grow, and they have long since moved past their temporary romance. Now, she understood her place and that it was alright to admire him from afar without being too caught up in her emotions.

“Well, it’s great. She makes me lunch every morning before we head to work together. There’re always cute sticky notes attached to my rice tin with weird little faces drawn on them, or little song quotes that she had on her mind at the time. She’s so fun to be around; it’s like a sleepover with my best friend every night. I’m just….” Makoto picked up his coffee and smiled into it. “...Happy.”

Wait. Back-up. She?

Sayaka knitted her brows together and frowned. Was she missing something here? “I’m sorry, but I’m confused. I thought you two were married?” With open hands, she gestured to the two men on the couch, earning a well-timed snort from both Byakuya and Rantaro. She glared at Rantaro, before directing her attention to Byakuya.

“Sorry to break it to you, but we split up after Senior year.” Byakuya coolly sipped at his coffee, not bothering to add sugar or cream into it, the heathen.

Well, this was news to her. She pursed her lips at Makoto in thought. “So, you aren’t gay after all? Then who is Byakuya married to?”

Sheepishly, Makoto scratched the back of his head, his face a pale shade of pink. “Ah. Turns out no. I’m into both men and women.”

“And I’m single. The ring is to keep money hungry women off my amazing physique.” Byakuya added, cockily.

Before Sayaka could say anything else, Rantaro added, “I suppose I wasn’t clear about Makoto’s wedding. That was between lover boy and Ibuki Mioda. From class 77.”

Sayaka was even more confused with this knowledge. When did they ever have any sort of interaction? She never recalled Makoto speaking to Ibuki in their two shared years at Hope’s Peak, the musician being rather boisterous while Makoto was more reserved. Setting down his cup and placing his balled fists on his knees, Makoto dove into a tale about how they’d fallen for one another as they worked at Togami Corp., earning another sneer from Byakuya, who she could tell wanted to take credit for their successful relationship.

“She just has this pull about her. So bubbly and optimistic. Before I knew it, I was head over heels.” Regardless of surprise and... jealousy?...Sayaka smiled and cheered at the news, much to a stressed-out Makoto’s relief.

With a clack, Byakuya set down his coffee cup hard on the wooden table, crossing his arms and throwing one long leg over the other. He milled over the others in the room before prompting, “Alright, enough about Makoto's love life. What is our plan?”

\---

Well, shoot. That was a good question.

Rantaro hadn’t really thought about their approach to this whole runaway idol scenario they were tangled in. Other than providing a place for her to stay, he wasn’t sure what to do if the appropriate authorities came busting down his door, accusing him of kidnapping, or worse, forcing Sayaka to return to her tour. Perhaps he should have blocked his phone number earlier…

“Well, I’m providing lodging until we can sort this all out,” Rantaro offered, holding a hand out absently.

Byakuya nodded, approving. “That’s a start. And if someone comes for her?”

Sayaka drew her sweatpants clad legs into her chest, wrapping her arms around them nervously. “They can’t force me to go anywhere. It’s not like I’m a child. Though my manager is upset I... I’m my own person.”

Makoto and Rantaro could only nod at that response. She was a strong-willed woman, after all. Though she was calm and kind, he wouldn’t want to see what she was like when she snapped. Byakuya frowned slightly but didn’t really argue against that fact. “Alright. So, then I suppose that prompts what you’ll do in the meantime. You can’t exactly go out in public.”

“That’s not true.” Makoto crossed his arms, pulling his mouth to the side and wrinkling his nose. “Don’t celebrities go in public disguised all the time?”

Sayaka opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by Byakuya letting out a loud sigh. “Do you really think arguably the most popular pop idol, with let me remind you, hip length blue hair, is going to be easy to hide among a crowd?” The blonde directed his stare to Sayaka, causing the idol to shift uncomfortably under his gaze. “She sticks out like a sore thumb.”

Rantaro had to agree with Byakuya, but still felt it was wrong to leave her out of the conversation since, well, she was the subject matter after all. “You were going to say Sayaka?”

Surprised, the blue-haired girl’s head lifted a tad, a visible thank you on her face. “Why don’t I cut and dye it?”

Okay. Maybe they shouldn’t have listened to her.

As a fan of Cherry Yume, Rantaro knew just how valuable Sayaka’s hair was, not only for her own beauty, but for the band’s image. The front woman’s flowing hair was her landmark, pushing her innocent and gentle image forward further. He almost felt his heart breaking in two at the idea of even touching her locks with scissors. However, much to his dismay, the others seemed to agree.

The luckster shrugged and nodded. “Komaru’s a hairdresser after all. I can just get her to come over and take care of it for you, if that’s what you really want.”

With a finalized nod, Sayaka split open Rantaro’s heart and stomped it into a million pieces. It took every ounce of his self-control to not tell her she was making a huge mistake. No. This was her hair. This was her body. This was not his choice to make, no matter how biased he was.

In moments, Makoto had his sister on the phone and the four of them got back to their talk about what they’d do this week. Other than sit around and eat chips and pizza, Sayaka didn’t seem to have any ideal needs she wanted taken care of while she was undercover. Rantaro had to admit, for being an idol, she was incredibly humble, wanting nothing more than to just enjoy her time at a slower pace rather than live lavish. Could you blame her? Bouncing from country to country didn't really leave much time for sightseeing, let alone any down time. How was she just now cracking under pressure? Really, Sayaka was admirable.

After a half-hour or so, Komaru arrived, a plastic tote in hand with god knows what kind of supplies. After giggling and hugging one another, the two disappeared into the house’s front bathroom, leaving the three men alone in the living room. Makoto turned to Rantaro, a smirk on his face, as he propped his hand on one of his knees and set his chin in his palm, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You like her, don’t you?”

Rantaro could feel himself start to sweat under Makoto’s sly gaze, the blonde next to him also tuning in out of well-covered interest. “Well of course. She’s part of my favorite music group.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

If there was something Rantaro could not do, it was lie. Not only that, but Makoto could read him like an open book, the older boy knowing Rantaro in and out due to their nearly ancient friendship. He knew he looked nervous and that he was caught right in Makoto’s sticky trap, but still, he could try...right?

“I have no romantic interest in Sayaka.”

“Liar.”

Shit.

Byakuya, slid his glasses off his face and wiped at one of the lenses with a soft cloth he procured from his blazer pocket. “I think you’ll find he’s in denial, Makoto.”

“No, that’s not it Byakuya.” The brunette leaned back and kicked off his loafers, resting his socked feet on the wooden bar under the table top. “He knows. He just doesn’t want _us_ to know.”

Rantaro felt a prick of annoyance. “He is right here, thank you. And if I like her, then that’s my business. It’s not like I can make anything of it.”

“I wouldn’t put that off just yet,” Makoto started, to which Byakuya finished: “Surely someone can look past all of your many flaws and love you.”

With a huff, Rantaro stood up and paced around the room. His hands were moving rapidly as he spoke. “Okay, kinda? But not for what I thought she was. For what I realized she is. I keep telling myself that though and I’m worried I’m just starstruck and that I don’t actually like her.”

Makoto watched Rantaro as he paced back and forth, whispering to the CEO just loud enough for the greenette to pick up, “I think this is the most he’s ever talked at once.”

“Because I’m _worried_ , Makoto.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” Makoto rose to his feet and padded over to Rantaro. He was vaguely aware of the shower running in the other room, Komaru leaving the bathroom for a moment to join them. “You have more going for you than you realize. She did ask about you a lot in high school, after all.”

Well this was news to Rantaro. Before he could ask, Komaru bounced over and smiled that usual, plain Jane smile. “She’s getting the bleach out of her hair. I thought I’d join you all for a moment.”

Bleach? Heart. Ow. Be strong, Rantaro.

“Hey, Maru, what did you two talk about?” Makoto directed this question to his sister, who thought for a good moment, placing her finger to her chin, before answering.

“Well, nothing much. She just kinda talked about how thankful she was Rantaro didn’t shove her out.”

Makoto turned back to Rantaro with that damn smirk still on his face. “See?”

Rantaro scowled, the corners of his mouth pulling down harshly. “Because I was _human_ to her. That doesn’t mean anything.”

Makoto laughed and shook his head, shrugging. “Okay. Okay. Perhaps you’ll feel different come Saturday. You’ve 3 and a half days to figure it out. You best get on that.”

Komaru tilted her head, confused. “Figure what out?”

\---

After hours of having her hair pulled this way and that, Sayaka stared in the mirror. The girl that looked back at her had her eyes, her face, everything hers except her hair, which was now a pale shade of silver. Not only that, it was shoulder length, fanning out around her delicate features. With gentle hands, Komaru tossed it around and played with her part.

“Whatcha think?” the bubbly girl asked, a smile painting her face. “It turned out nice, right?”

Sayaka tilted her head and touched her hair. She’d never dyed it before, hell, it hadn’t been shorter than the midsection of her back ever in her life. This was...different. Not giving the girl an answer, Sayaka stepped out into the living room and in front of the three men present. Byakuya didn’t say anything, just nodded in acceptance. Did that mean she was passable for someone else? Makoto smiled and gave her two thumbs up, the ever-supportive boy warming her heart. Rantaro, however, was another story.

As she met his eyes, she saw something not exactly distinguishable behind them. Awe maybe? Regardless, the greenette flushed slightly and diverted his attention to the floor in front of her feet, not meeting her eyes again. Was that a good sign? She figured she’d take it as such.

Rantaro cleared his throat and put it simply: “You look good.”

With added confidence, Sayaka hugged Komaru and thanked her, offering to pay for her services. The other girl denied over and over, stating it was a gift from one friend to another, before packing up her supplies and heading back to her shop. This left the four of them alone once more, but only for a few more moments, as Byakuya received a call from Togami Corp. about some issue in the legal department. With an irritated sigh, he rose to his feet, said his goodbyes, and ushered Makoto to come with him, the two sharing a company car.

“Hate to cut it short, Sayaka. I’ll be back over on Thursday. I have the day off.” Makoto hugged the idol once more, ruffling her hair slightly before turning to Rantaro. “Protect her, alright?”

Rantaro nodded, a warm feeling spreading through his body. Of course, he would. What kind of question was that? “You got it.”

With that, Makoto ducked out of the house and shut the door firmly behind them, delving the remaining two into silence. Sayaka looked over at Rantaro, who met her eyes accordingly. “Should I make us something for dinner?”

Rantaro’s eyes widened as he shook his head profusely. “Of course not. What kind of host would I be if I made you cook?”

“Ah. Well, I suppose if that’s how passionate you feel about it, then I can’t object.” This ended up in Sayaka sitting on the counter near the sink, keeping Rantaro company while he fried up some potatoes, steak, and asparagus. The time was spent with more mindless conversation, eventually evolving into a question game, things like favorite flavor of ice cream and movie being shared. Turns out a lot of the tabloids claimed Sayaka was partial to orange sorbet, which she hated. Turns out, her favorite was cake batter, which Rantaro had to agree, was damn great.

“What do you mean you’ve never seen ‘After the Dark’?” The journalist sounded baffled, causing a small laugh to come from the idol. “It’s hailed as the best movie known to mankind.”

“By who?”

“Me, of course.”

With another laugh, she hopped off the counter and pulled out two plates, the glass surfaces scraping against one another, before setting them next to the stove. Leaning against the firm surface, she smirked at Rantaro. “Let’s watch it then.”

And so that’s how they spend the rest of their night, huddled on the couch (okay, a few feet away, but sharing a blanket counts, right?), finishing their dinner, and watching Rantaro’s, and now one of Sayaka’s, favorite movie. With dinner finished, movie over, and both extremely exhausted from the day, poor Sayaka never exactly getting a full night’s sleep the day prior, Rantaro stood up and stretched.

“Alright. You get my bed. I’ll be out here if you need me.”

Sayaka puffed her cheeks and stood next to Rantaro, crossing her arms. “I think not. I am _not_ putting you out of your bed after all you’ve done today.”

Rantaro raised an eyebrow and threw himself on the couch, spreading across the entire surface. With a devious grin, he shrugged at Sayaka, who was still pouting. He wouldn't have her deny him any longer. The couch was his, as claimed by his butt. With a nonchalant shrug, he informed her of the situation. “Sorry. This is taken. Looks like you have no choice.”

With that, Sayaka rolled her eyes and bopped his head, sending the two into a fake argument that devolved into playful name calling (like Avocado Head and Pop Teen Sensation: Seryerker Maizerner), before heading back into his bedroom.

It was quaint, gray and green, just what you'd expect from Rantaro. Though, the walls were barer than she imagined initially, recalling her room back home being covered with posters and artwork.

Sliding into his bed, the idol had to admit, she was nervous. There would be nothing stopping him other than her trust from Rantaro joining her in the middle of the night. Trying her best to put those thoughts out of her head, Sayaka drifted off to sleep, hugged by Rantaro's plush blankets, warm from head to toe, and cradled in the scent of sandalwood and Rantaro’s shampoo scented pillow.


	3. Wednesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for never updating this here! This chapter was actually out 2 and a half weeks ago but I completely forgot to update here. I update on amino first, so be sure to check that out if I've gone missing for a while. No matter how long it takes, I WILL be finishing this fanfic. Trust.

_Sticky._

Sayaka watched slowly, as she pulled her glued together fingers apart, mesmerized by the way her skin slowly separated from its partner. She did this again, smushing the two digits together, before starting the process of dividing them once more. After a few more repetitions, the tack was soon lost, leaving Sayaka staring down at her syrupy pancakes. She was half tempted to get more on her finger tips.

Instead, she cut into the pastries, sticking the overly sweet cakes into her mouth and relishing in their lack of nutrition. Thank god for Rantaro’s morning sweet tooth. Speaking of Rantaro, the idol flicked her gaze up to be met with the back of his head, as he prepared his own plate of pancakes, adding peanut butter on the top layer, chasing it with a drizzle of syrup. With a clack, the man set down his plate and took his seat across from Sayaka, offering her a smile.

The morning was peaceful thus far. Sayaka had woken up to the smell of Rantaro’s morning cooking, finding the man at the stove, a deep green apron tied around his form. Small puffs of flour decorated the front, as he carefully flipped each cake on the griddle, instructing Sayaka to take her seat and relax. She admired his messy bed head and husky sleepy voice, the journalist obviously still waking up from a hard sleep on the couch. It was pretty cute, she decided. Now, she sat at his small wooden table, pouring over her breakfast and secretly delighted that he chose to join her.

“They good?”

Nodding, Sayaka finished her chewing and swallowed, the maple taste sending her taste buds into a flurry of delight. “Really good. I’m not allowed to have these.”

Rantaro shook his head as his picked up his fork and knife, frowning into his stack. “I can’t imagine forgoing pancakes. Your life sucks.”

With a snort, Sayaka picked up her glass of water and took a swig. Oh, he had no idea. “I’ve given up more than you can imagine following my dream.”

“And is it worth it?” With an intrigued tilt of his head, Rantaro’s meadow green eyes found her crystalline blues. His tone was free of malice, the question born of genuine curiosity.

Of course, Sayaka’s initial reaction to this would be “yes, yes, yes!” but was that how she actually felt about the matter? Would something worth the frustration, separation from friends and family, lack of privacy be worthy of that response? She was here after all because of that stress, so shouldn’t her presence be enough to answer that question?

Setting her fork down, the idol dipped her hands under the table and clutched them together. “I’m not so sure anymore.”

Grunting, Rantaro waved a hand back and forth, as if blowing smoke away. “Woah there, you’re looking far too deep into my words. It’s much too early to be solemn.” When he received no response other than a confused frown, the man continued. “Is it worth not eating _pancakes_?”

With a slight giggle tinting her voice, the silver-haired girl nodded, the feeling of her short locks tickling her neck something she surely should get used to with time. “Yes. Being a pop idol is worth the lack of pancakes in my life.”

“Then, there ya go.” He rose his glass to her, in a toast, before chugging the rest of his water.

The two finished off their plates in a comfortable silence, rising from the table at the same time to take care of the dishes. Much to Sayaka’s delight, her pouting caused him to cave, the man allowing her to wash them off, leaving the girl finally feeling as if she was of some use. Hands soapy, she listened to his game plan for the day over the rushing sink water.

“I figured we could get you some clothing for the rest of your stay.”

Sayaka smirked deviously, her voice tinted with playful innocence. “But I thought men like to see their clothing on women. Something about claimed territory?”

Clearing his throat, Rantaro looked away, and for a moment Sayaka worried she'd upset him. The lightness in his voice said otherwise. “That couldn't be farther from what I had in mind. I just figured you’d not want to be in sweats when we meet with the others tonight.”

“We’re going out tonight?” This was news to Sayaka, although with all of the commotion of yesterday, she couldn’t blame him if he forgot.

“Mhm. Ibuki has shows on Wednesdays. Makoto always shows up, you know, to be that “perfect husband” and whatnot.” Rantaro’s smile betrayed his words. He was totally proud of the older man. “Kaito joins when he’s off duty.”

Flicking off the water and toweling her hands dry, Sayaka inquired, “Off duty?”

Rantaro headed to the back room, gesturing for the idol to follow, explaining along the way. “He works for JAXA. He was at the space station for a few months but is on Earth for once. So, I’m forcing him to join us tonight.”

Ah...that was right. Kaito was the former Ultimate Astronaut. Bless Rantaro for jogging her mind time and time again. “Right. So _that’s_ why you don’t want me in sweats.”

“I didn’t think they were proper for a bar, yes.”

Suppressing a snort of laughter, Sayaka popped into the bathroom with Rantaro, who handed her a sealed toothbrush. After washing up, minty fresh and free of hair tangles, the idol stepped out to let Rantaro have a turn at the bathroom, the distinct sound of a running shower filling the air. Instead of standing around his bedroom, Sayaka plopped on the front couch patiently waiting to head out and hit the town.

\---

Slipping on a coat and making sure to grab an extra for Sayaka, Rantaro snatched his keys from his desk and stepped out into the living room. With a firm shut of his door behind him, the man plodded over to the couch, tossing the jacket at the girl sitting there. With a grateful smile, she put it on. Perhaps there were some truths to her words earlier. She was rather a sight to behold, all decked out in Rantaro’s clothes, most of which were a few sizes too big.

Putting that thought out of his mind, he opened the hall closet and pulled out an extra helmet, before moving to take his off the hook on the wall. With a tilt of his head, he beckoned Sayaka over.

“I didn’t realize you ride a motorcycle!” Sayaka exclaimed, bouncing over to Rantaro.

“Hah. Something like that.”

Ignoring her confused expression, Rantaro stepped outside, the silver-haired girl right behind. Locking the door, Rantaro spun the key ring around his finger once before walking over to the gate, opening it to reveal-

“...A Vespa?”

Rantaro ran an embarrassed hand through his hair. As if the shit he got from Kaito wasn’t enough, he didn’t need Sayaka giving him flak either. “Listen, it’s good on gas.”

Sayaka placed the helmet on her head and shook it left and right. “I’m actually not surprised.” Her voice was muffled by the plastic face shield, the suppressed noise quite cute.

“I’m not sure if that’s an insult or a compliment.” The greenette pulled the scooter out and walked it down to the street. Slinging a leg over the side, he sat in place, holding it steady with his feet. Patting the seat behind him, Sayaka got the hint to hop on. Gingerly, she placed herself on the back of the motorbike, nervously wrapping her arms around his torso. In retrospect, Rantaro knew she had to, but that didn’t stop his heart from being sent into a tizzy, his pulse quickening as she pressed her body into his.

Pulling one of legs up and onto the foot rest, he failed to realize Sayaka’s was in the same place, instead covering her smaller one with his easily 4 sizes larger foot. Apologizing and mentally chiding himself, Rantaro adjusted his position and started up the scooter, the motor humming to life. With that, they were off, zooming through the streets, the world a whirlwind around them.

The streets were a blur as they zig-zagged out of his neighborhood. The drive slowly had him reason just how convenient the circumstances of her arrival were. It wasn't as if his house stood out, nor did he remember seeing a vehicle abandoned nearby. The fact that Sayaka was drawing a blank worried him further.

Five…ten...fifteen minutes passed as they made their way downtown, driving fast, faces all but a figment of the past. Rantaro never got over the thrill of zipping in and out of traffic, the lanes at his mercy. He felt confident, powerful even, as if the world couldn't touch him and he could outrun all his issues.

_Too bad you can't outrun your job, dude._

No doubt, that would be Kaito’s reaction to this situation once he found out. He'd have to be extra careful tonight to ensure Kaito didn't connect the dots, for risk of spilling the beans about his ties to Sayaka. Surely, he trusted Kaito. Drunk Kaito though? That was a whole other ball game, and Rantaro wasn't skilled at batting.

Pulling into the mall parking lot, the area was devoid of cars. The few scattered here and there were surely from the workers. Who comes to the mall on a Wednesday morning? Pulling the helmet off his head, Rantaro shook his hair out of its flattened state and fluffed it back up, before clipping his onto his handlebars. Stepping off the scooter, he held a hand out to Sayaka, who gratefully accepted it and dismounted with grace. After ensuring the keys were in his pocket and their helmets weren't going to roll away, the two made their way to the front of the anchor store.

Two rights later and they were in the women’s department. Like a kid in a candy store, Sayaka bounced about the racks of clothing, grabbing shirts without abandon. Soon, the small girl was covered in clothing, the idol swallowed whole by a sea of cotton.

Pulling a shirt off her face, Rantaro slung it over his shoulder, taking in her embarrassed expression. “You know, you can ask for help.”

Thrusting him an armful of clothes, Sayaka puffed her cheeks out in a pouty fashion, before silently making her way to the dressing room. Planting himself on a chair, he waited, drinking in the little huffs of annoyance just barely audible from the room. Eventually, she exited the dressing room, all shirts save for one abandoned.

Raising an eyebrow, Rantaro blinked a few times. “Is... that really all you have after that huge pile?”

Nodding, she tossed the single shirt over to his awaiting hands, before slinking back over to search for more, visibly disheartened. Glancing over what she handed him, he noticed it was just a simple V-neck. Nothing special.

_Why not just buy more of those?_

Growing up with a plethora of sisters has taught him not to ask this question. Good boy, Rantaro.

After an hour or so of playing Sayaka shirt fashion show, they had built up a selection of five, those chosen individuals earning the Sayaka Seal of Approval :tm: . Thankfully, the rest of her clothing was pretty cut and dry; pants are easy if you buy the same brand, and underwear...well, Rantaro didn’t make a point to be present for that. Instead, he busied himself around hair accessories, plucking a bright pink barrette from the wide selection.

Reconvening around the cash register, Sayaka dumped her final choices on the counter, Rantaro casually slipping his single purchase under the pile. With a swipe of his card, the transaction was finalized, the small mountain of clothing quickly ushered into a plastic bag by the employee, which Rantaro slipped over his wrist. Stepping out into the afternoon sun, the two walked along the side of the mall, their exit not their entrance.

“I hope you know I’m paying you back as soon as I can,” Sayaka looked up at Rantaro, her jellyfish blue eyes steeled with determination.

With a smirk, Rantaro shook his head. “Sorry. Can’t let that happen.”

“Oh? And why not?” Ah, there was the pout again.

“Has miss idol never been given a gift before?” Though his voice was light, there was no playfulness on his face, instead icy resolve. Stopping to dig into the bag, he pulled out the hair piece, snapping it off its thick paper holster. Gently, he slipped it into her hair, before patting her on the head. “A gift.”

With a gentle dust of pink over her cheeks, the girl looked away and brushed her fingers gently over the clip. With a warm feeling in his chest, Rantaro let her onwards and continued to their ride. However, instead of immediately heading into the parking lot, a distinct noise from the alley behind the anchor caught their attention. It was...grunting?

Holding up a hand, a sign for Sayaka to wait there, Rantaro passed off the clothing bag to Sayaka before dipping into the alley and cautiously stepping over to the dumpster. The grunts grew louder, peppered with small curses here and there. Ducking an empty cup, of which sailed out of the garbage, the greenette stepped up to the large metal bin and peered inside. Jesus Christ…

“Ibuki? What the hell are you doing?” Rantaro gripped the bridge of his nose, as the rainbow clad girl popped out of the trash, an empty coffee cup held in place by one of her hair horns.

With a salute, she stood up, flinging debris this way and that. Her clothing was...semi-appropriate? for dumpster diving, if there’s a dress code for that. Old, tattered shoes, ripped thigh high mix matching socks, jean shorts, and a long sleeved shirt.

Hands proudly on her hips, she propped a foot on a soggy cardboard box, not batting an eye as she broke straight through the side and devled inside, a nauseating squish the result of her actions. “Hello, hello, hello! I see you have caught the great one, Ibuki Mioda, in the act of scavenging!”

...Is that what she was calling it? Shaking his head, Rantaro offered to help her out of the bin, her slimy hand immediately causing him to regret his decisions. Not only was she covered in garbage juice, she smelled like she’d rolled around in a skunk’s den for weeks, the sour smell wafting off her worse than the dumpster itself. Looking down at his hand, his mouth pulled slightly into a grimace. The man looked for something to wipe it on and settled for his pants, the greasy feeling remaining on his skin. If only touching her did that to him, he didn’t want to imagine just how revolting Ibuki felt at this moment.

“Right...and you’re doing this why?”

As Ibuki opened her mouth to spew off some farfetched story, Sayaka called down the alley. “Everything alright down there?”

Rantaro grunted. Alright? That wasn’t exactly the word he’d use here, but hey, Ibuki was better than a band of rabid raccoons...maybe. “Yeah. I suppose you could say that. C’mere.”

\---

The last thing Sayaka expected today was to meet a dumpster diver, not that she’d ever met one before. This entire situation was new to her, and possibly worse now that she realized she knew the person.

Running to his side, Sayaka frowned at Ibuki, before her face lit up in recognition, and then slightly dropped as the stench hit her nose. “Ah...Ibuki! It’s so...nice to see you!”

Her hands were soon grasped by the other girl’s, Ibuki bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. Rantaro tried to force a helpful smile at Sayaka, but she could tell it faltered, coming out far more awkward than intended. On the surface, the idol was delighted, all the while internally screaming. Her nose flooded with the pungent stench drifting up her nostrils.

“Is this _the_ Sayaka! I am not worthy!”

Rantaro held back his laugh as best as possible, his mouth soon covered by his hand, the other he continued to wipe against his clothing. She must have touched him too, the silver-haired girl realized. The slickness that greeted her hands flipped her stomach over.

“No, no! You are...for sure worthy! Yeah!” Sayaka carefully detached herself from Ibuki, stiffly keeping her hands off her clothing and the bag hung on her wrist. She’d need a three-hour shower after this encounter, surely.

Firing her finger guns at Sayaka, Ibuki crossed her arms over her chest and nodded fervently. “You are totally right. I’m the greatest musician in the world, after all.” Noticing the blank stare Sayaka returned, she quickly added, “Ah, after you of course!”

Rantaro cleared his throat once, thankfully saving poor Sayaka from this precarious corner she was pushed into. “So, you gonna explain the dumpster diving?”

Ibuki put her fingers to her temples, concentrating for a moment. “Yes, you have read my mind! You see, I’m in desperate need of torn clothing. What better a place to find that than behind a clothing store?”

Rantaro sighed heavily. “You know, they sell torn clothing inside, right? I know you and Makoto are more than capable of buying it.”

Shaking her head angrily, Ibuki stomped her foot down, the wet slap it made another prod at the idol’s stomach. “And give in to ‘the man’? Never! Where is your sense of adventure?” With an embarrassed twirl of her hair, Ibuki looked away from the two. “Though, I did find a coupon, so I was going to head in soon if I came up empty handed.”

“I don’t think they’ll let you in smelling like th-” Rantaro stopped himself, before laughing weakly. “You know what? You do that.”

Jumping in victory, the colorful girl gave out some sort of victory cry, before linking her arm with Sayaka’s. “You’ll come with me, right? Riiiight?”

“Ah-” Sayaka soon found herself pressed flush to the musician’s clothes, wincing as the moistness transferred through her coat. “I’d love to! I really would. However, Rantaro and I need too…,” she trailed off, desperately seeking help from the man. Thankfully picking up her silent plea, Rantaro finished off her sentence.

“...we need to go to the doctor! Yeah. I’m feeling a little under the weather.” With a half-hearted, obviously forced cough, Rantaro flashed Ibuki an embarrassed look.

Immediately, Ibuki pressed her hand to his forehead, her face visibly worried. “Oh no! Are you still going to be able to come to the show tonight?”

“Don’t worry about that!” Sayaka butted in, stepping between Rantaro and Ibuki, attempting to return the favor and save him from further trash goo. “I’ll see to it that he’s fit as a fiddle for tonight.”

With a slow nod, Ibuki pursed her lips.

_Dear lord, please buy the lie. I promise I’ll never do it again._

“Right-o! Well, then I’ll see you two tonight! And feel better Rantaro! I’d be a shame if you puked on yourself or something!” With a hyper wave, Ibuki bounded out of the alley, stopping at the entrance for a moment. “Also, don’t tell Makoto, alright?”

As soon as Ibuki’s footsteps faded away, the two looked at one another, the relief painted across their features. Slowly, the stepped out of the alley, making 100% sure that they were truly in the clear, before rushing over to Rantaro’s scooter. With sloppy fingers, helmets were fitted to heads and snapped in place, Sayaka not really caring anymore about her arm slime and praying Rantaro didn’t either.

Clambering back into the house, both Sayaka and Rantaro tossed off their coats and ducked into their respective showers, the two furiously scrapping whatever residue Ibuki had left on them off. One or twice, Sayaka sniffed her skin, only to find that the stomach churning scent still disgraced her nose. After probably four rounds of scouring, she finally felt clean enough to step out. Dressing into her new clothing, a plain blue shirt and some jeans, she stepped out of the bathroom, steam wafting out behind her like a fog machine.

Skin red like lobsters, they joined together once more in the living room, an uncomfortable silence heavy like the damp towels on their shoulders. Rantaro's hair was still dripping, the man's hands shriveled like prunes. Sayaka looked at her own, finding the same wrinkled appearance.

Sayaka shifted her gaze to Rantaro. “So... let’s never talk about that again?”

“Agreed.”

The silence settled once more, before she broke through yet again. “You mentally prepared for tonight?”

With a smirk, Rantaro lifted his head, his forest greens meeting ocean blues.

_“Bring it on.”_


	4. Wednesday, too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains alcohol references so if that ain't your thing, sorry.

If Rantaro was good at anything, it would be dressing up. Sayaka grazed her eyes over his attire as he slipped off his helmet and clipped it to his handlebars. Leather jacket on a plain black tee, followed by dark wash jeans and sneakers. Leather...really suited Rantaro.

Sayaka wiped her hands on her pants before removing her helmet. Gently, the man took it from her hands and attached it to his scooter, before glancing over to the venue. The idol continued to admire his features, from the way his hair draped over the nape of his neck to his hooped ears. Feeling her face heat up slightly, she broke her stare and followed his gaze.

The brick building beside them was illuminated by a gaudy neon sign that read “Titty Typhoon”. Muffled rock music rang out from the club, the beat of the drums a continuous pounding through the air. Standing up straight, Rantaro adjusted his jacket before offering his arm to Sayaka. Nervously, she grasped his elbow with her hand, drawing closer.

_Calm down. You’re being creepy, _Sayaka chided herself.__

____

____

The act of holding on to his arm was most likely a precautionary measure. She wasn’t sure how crowded the venue would be, nor was she aware of the activity level they’d be faced with once they entered. She was used to crowds, so the bustle would be nothing. However, the more people, the likelihood of her being recognized skyrocketed. With a deep breath, she ran her free hand through her hair, adjusting the barrette that Rantaro had given her.

“You alright?” Rantaro’s eyes were now on her.

With a reassuring smile, she nodded. “Of course. People don’t scare me.”

The two slipped around the side of the building and to the front, where the bouncer raised a single eyebrow in surprise. He was a short man with cropped reddish hair and rosy red cheeks, vaguely familiar to Sayaka. He spoke with a voice like a deep rumble, loud enough to hear over the music, but not obnoxiously so.

“It's rare to see you here.” 

“What can I say, I'm full of surprises.” Rantaro’s face was pulled into a pleasant grin, reassuring Sayaka that he was a friend and no foe.

The man leaned against his podium, picking up his package of cigarettes lightly, before smacking them against the wood. When he noted her watching him, he breathed out his nose harshly, murmuring something about “waking up the cancer.” With an unlit stick of tobacco in his mouth, he rested his elbows against the frame, an amused expression on his face.

“So, you got yourself a girl?”

Rantaro scratched his head awkwardly, a short laugh following soon after. “No, no. We're not dating. We're just…,” he trailed off, seemingly not sure where to take that statement.

“We're good friends,” Sayaka chimed in.

The man grunted, a slow smirk creeping on to his face. “Right. Friends. That's how it all starts.”

Rantaro shook his head, Sayaka feeling her heart plummet slightly. “I don't see that happening in the near future.”

Slipping a lighter out of his pocket, the bouncer flicked the device. Sticking the cigarette in his mouth into the flame, he took in a single short drag, releasing the smoke from his nose. He was like a dragon...a small one. “You've got a ways to go.” With that said, he turned his attention to Sayaka, an all-knowing gaze peering into her soul. “Runaway idol, it seems.”

“Ah…” Sayaka wasn't sure what to say in response. She didn't quite think she'd be caught so quickly. So much for undercover. Perhaps Byakuya was wrong and she did need those sunglasses.

The man next to hear leaned towards her face. “Don't worry, Ryoma’s not one to gossip,” Rantaro filled in, his voice a whisper, tickling her ear.

Ignoring the creeping blush, Sayaka flashed her 1000-watt smile at the red head. “I suppose you could say that.”

With a shrug, he took another drag off his cigarette. “We all need a change of pace eventually.” With dull eyes, Ryoma stared off into the distance in a somewhat haunting manner. “Lord knows I need it.” After an awkward moment of silence, Ryoma unhooked the red velvet divider blocking the two from entering. With a tip of his head, Rantaro stepped in, Sayaka following closely behind.

For the amount of noise blasting from the venue, the Titty Typhoon was...remarkably empty. Other than two half-full tables and a handful of patrons mulling about the dancefloor, the bar was a wasteland. With a curious glance to Rantaro, the man shrugged and leaned in to speak to her.

“Yeah, it’s usually more crowded. Wednesdays are pretty dead.”

Raising her voice over the blaring music, Sayaka asked, “Why Wednesdays?”

Snorting, Rantaro shook his head. “Trust me. You’ll see.” Raising his eyes, something seemed to catch his attention. With a small nudge, he indicated for her to join him. Turning slightly, she realized he was gesturing to a table with two men at it, one’s wild hair all too familiar. Bouncing over to the half-booth, half-table, she slid in next to Makoto, who was caught off guard. He was stiff, his eyes darting from Rantaro to Sayaka before he rested them on the drink in his hand.

“Relax, Macutie. It’s just me.” Sayaka stuck her tongue out at him, before noticing the various red cups on the table. “What are these?”

“You see,” Makoto started, his words coming out slow and precise. “I was worried because I have a wife and I’m loyal to her. I may or may not have also had a couple of drinks already.”

“And by a couple,” the other man spoke up, his fuchsia eyes full of amusement. “He’s totally plastered after three beers.”

“I’ll have you know I am capable of keeping composed.”

Rantaro slid in next to the purple-haired man and across from Sayaka. He was trying his best to keep his laughter back. “Makoto busts out the big words when he’s drunk.”

“Inconceivable.”

“I can see that.” Sayaka giggled and reached over Makoto to pick up the drink menu, directing her attention to the other man. “Pleasure to meet you again, Kaito.”

“Heck, I’m flattered you remember my name.” His smile was genuine, stretching from cheek to cheek.

Sayaka shrugged, mulling over the assortment of alcoholic beverages on the menu. Honestly, it seemed like this place would be the perfect go-to when in search of a shitty house-draft. With a slight frown, she leafed over the page to the ‘spirits’ section. “Well, yeah. You turn on the news and there you are. How’s life back on Earth anyway?”

With a purse of his lips, the astronaut bottomed his fruity green drink and slammed the empty glass back on the table. “Honestly? Terrible.” When Sayaka raised her head, surprised, he continued. “My fiancé nags me and gravity sucks. I feel like a toddler learning how to walk again.” He pounded the armrest of his chair with disdain. “And I’m stuck in this damn wheelchair until my spine decides I can stand upright again.”

“Mahiru? Nag? Well, I never.” Rantaro’s voice was dripping with sarcasm, one green eye playfully winking.

Kaito put up a hand in surrender. “Yeah, yeah. That’s just Pipsqueak for ya.” Lowering his voice into a soft grunt, he added something to that statement, which earned a snort from the man beside him, Rantaro shaking his head slowly.

When he noticed Sayaka’s quirked eyebrow, the journalist leaned across the table and raised his voice. “He loves his wife.”

“I love my wife.” Makoto nodded, matter of a fact.

“Not you, idiot.” Kaito gently chopped Makoto on the top of his head, the brunette reeling from fake pain.

Looking at the drink menu wasn’t an option any further, as the lights in the bar dimmed and the music skidded to a halt. Sayaka turned to the stage as the spotlights popped on all at once, focusing on a slim woman with a guitar in hand. With gloved fingers, she gripped the microphone in front of her and brought her mouth to the device.

“GOOD EVENING, TITTY TYPHOON-ERS!”

As Ibuki screamed into the mic, the system screeched, not yet adjusted to her loud self. With a grimace, Sayaka winced, grabbing the lobe of her ear and shaking it. Absently, the rockstar strummed her guitar, the single riff ripping through the air.

“LOOKS LIKE WE HAVE A BIGGER CROWD TONIGHT!”

“Can you call...8 people a crowd?” Kaito murmured, his eyes bouncing as he counted the others in the bar that weren’t the four of them. Seemed as if the already barren building was spread thinner nearing showtime. Rantaro shrugged in response.

Ibuki stepped back from the microphone and pressed a pedal on the ground, starting up the drum machine. The synthetic beat reverberated through the bar, like an oddly pleasant heartbeat. Too bad with Ibuki, nothing was pleasant for too long. The soothing thumps were sliced into bits as Ibuki wailed into her microphone, sounding somewhere between a whale giving birth and a jet plane exploding in the stratosphere.

Sayaka grit her teeth, flashing a look to Rantaro and Kaito. The astronaut shot her a knowing one back, while Rantaro merely pursed his lips in solace. It seemed she, Kaito, and Rantaro were in the same boat, with the traveler as the captain, Sayaka and Kaito as the rowers. Very quickly was this vessel going to sink.

With a start, Makoto slammed his hands on the table, standing up in the process. Over the sound of the...singing? he screamed at the top of his lungs, “I. LOVE. MY. WIFE.”

Sayaka will never understand how Makoto went from quiet Byakuya to whatever Ibuki was.

As the first song spun to a close, the guitarist bowed, her head bumping the microphone stand slightly. She looked oddly bashful, as if she just realized she was on a stage in front of a “crowd” of “fans”. Taking ahold of the quiet moment by the hair-horns, Sayaka slipped out of the booth and hopped over to the bar. The bartender had a jaded look in her dull purple eyes, no doubt forced to put up with this weekly performance. Sayaka hoped she was getting paid extra.

“One cranberry vodka, please.” She paused for a moment, remembering Rantaro’s sweet tooth. “And a mudslide.”

With a nod, the quiet woman got to work, her long forest hair swaying against her back as she shook the cocktail-shaker vigorously, the ice clacking about inside. With a flourish, she poured the drinks into their respective glasses, tapping the metal shaker a few times with her fingers. Properly prepared and garnished, Sayaka took her bitter liquor and Rantaro’s icy-milkshake in hand, before heading back to her table.

\---

“So, spill.”

Rantaro raised an eyebrow at Kaito, attempting to play dumb to the best of his abilities. “Not sure what you want me to spill here. I don’t have any drinks.”

With a grunt, Kaito clapped the journalist on the shoulder, his face plastered with a smirk. “C’mon. You got one of the hottest pop stars chillin’ at your house. Spill!”

Eyes trailing over to Sayaka, Rantaro tilted his head slightly. He couldn’t deny she was stunningly beautiful, (even) her sneakers, pale cuffed jeans, and dark blue shirt complimenting her figure. While he’d been against the idea of her haircut, he had to admit, she pulled off silver. Hell, she could probably pull off highlighter yellow. Perhaps that was just his bias speaking.

“There’s not much to say.” When Kaito didn’t seem satisfied by his answer, Rantaro cleared his throat. “I mean, I’m not sure what you’re expecting.”

Trying their best to ignore Ibuki starting up her next song and Makoto’s slamming on the table, Kaito adjusted himself awkwardly in his wheelchair and closer to Rantaro’s head. “The juice, man! What did you do last night?”

With a blank look on his face, Rantaro explained. “We watched a movie and ate dinner.”

“And then?”

“We went to bed.”

“And this morning?”

“I made her breakfast and took her shopping.”

Kaito sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You either gotta go for the hard-to-win approach or the perfect husband material.” With a pointed look at Rantaro, Kaito pursed his lips. “Right now, you’re doing neither.”

Rolling his eyes, the journalist placed his head in his hand, his elbow resting on the table. “Who said I want to date her?”

With a huff, Kaito shook his head. He leaned back in his chair. “You’re joking right?” When he received no response from Rantaro, he continued. “You’re head over heels for her, dude. You literally have her plastered all over your wall.”

“Had,” Rantaro corrected. “And I like her group, not necessarily her.

“Well if you didn’t before, you totally do now. Are you even aware of the love-struck way you watch her move? I felt like I was gonna vomit watching you watch her leave the table.”

Makoto chimed in, nodding. “He is smitten.”

Rantaro grunted, crossing his arms. “I am not ‘smitten’.”

“He is also a perjurer.”

“That he is, Makoto.” Kaito nodded in tandem with the drunk man, their heads bobbing in rhythm like two water birds.

Was there a point in denying it? With a heavy sigh, he pulled his mouth to the side, visually displeased. “You’re going to assume I do regardless of what I say. So, what if I do?”

Beaming, Kaito pulled Rantaro closer and noogied him. “That’s my boy! You gotta get that!”

“She’s not an object to ‘get’, Kaito.” Rantaro struggled in Kaito’s grasp before giving up and hanging limp in his arms. Goodness, how he found himself in these situations, he’d never understand. Keeping an eye out for the lady of the hour, his eyes rested on the bar where she sat, playing with her silver locks. “Today and yesterday put this into perspective for me. She’s so much more.”

“Spoken like a true man.” Kaito released Rantaro, the journalist rubbing his aching neck. “I’ll wingman for ya, if ya want.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Rantaro drew his lips into a thin line. “If I remember correctly, last time you attempted that, Shuichi ended up with a restraining order.” 

“Details, details! That was a fluke!” Kaito’s laugh was hearty, but Rantaro could sense the nervousness he was shielding with his boisterous attitude.

Movement from the bar caught his attention, as Sayaka made her way across the empty dance floor and back to their table, two drinks in hand. Setting the frosty glass in front of him, Rantaro took in the delicate drizzle of chocolate syrup before bringing the straw to his lips and sipping tentatively. Creamy sweet ice cream danced on his tongue, the bitter tang of liquor the slightest of aftertastes.

Lifting his eyes from the glass to the smiling woman in front of him, Rantaro blinked. “What is this?”

“A mudslide. It’s vodka, Kahlua, Irish cream, and vanilla ice cream. Good, right?” Sayaka’s eyes were glowing, morning glory blue under the dancing party lights of the bar.

Rantaro slid it over to her, the glass leaving a streak of condensation across the wooden table. “Take a sip.” He chose to ignore the slight nudge he received from Kaito.

The astronaut didn’t intend on sticking around, wheeling himself away from the table. With a tilt of his head, he gestured for Makoto to follow. “Take me outside, Makoto. It’s too stuffy in here for us taken folk.”

With a knowing smile, Makoto bounced out of the booth and grasped Kaito’s chair handles. As he was wheeling the other away, Rantaro vaguely heard the drunk one mention something about allowing the two ‘love birds’ privacy. He prayed Sayaka didn’t hear.

“If you insist.” Sayaka didn’t seem phased by the two leaving, the smile never leaving her face for a second. She grasped the plastic straw with her thumb and middle finger, holding her hair back from her face with her free hand. With gentle lips, she sampled the milkshake, smiling and wiping her mouth as she finished. “That’s probably the best one I’ve had.”

Taking the drink back, Rantaro stirred the milky substance. “Sato’s pretty talented. She’s never disappointed.”

With a nod, Sayaka tried her own drink, scrunching up her face. Rantaro frowned. “Bad?”

She shook her head, that damn grin on her face sliding back. “Excellent. I live for the bitter taste of cranberry.”

With an amused smirk, Rantaro leaned in closer to her, Ibuki’s screaming making it difficult to make out her words. “Why didn’t you name the group Cranberry Yume then?”

Sayaka covered her mouth, keeping her laugh back and her liquid in where it belonged. “It’s not as catchy!” Her grin melded into a smirk as her eyes narrowed. “I’d like to hear your thoughts on my idol group, oh highly regarded journalist.”

Rantaro shrugged, feeling his nerves skyrocket, though he was doing to try his damndest to not show it. “I’ve heard you a few times. You’re pretty good. And that’s ‘your majesty’, thanks.”

“Just pretty good? C’mon Rantaro, we’re at the top of the charts!” Sayaka winked and stuck her tongue out, gracefully placing her straw on it and taking yet another sip of her bitter alcohol. “Oh, where are my manners, your majesty.” The idol bowed with embellishment, giggling in the process.

Rantaro opened his mouth to dish out some snarky reply when his phone went off. Holding his straw in his mouth, drinking slowly at the sweet treat, he slipped his phone out of his pocket. With a glance at the caller ID, he frowned and released the plastic from his mouth. Handing the device over to Sayaka, he sighed.

“Ah…,” Sayaka gently took the phone from his hand and met his eyes. “I suppose I’ll take this outside.”

Rantaro nodded glumly, fearing what a call from her manager would bring. “You better. I’ll watch your drink.”

\---

Palming Rantaro’s phone, Sayaka made her way through the nearly empty building and out the back, taking the side door into the alley where she and Rantaro had parked his scooter. Pulling open the heavy metal door, she stepped out into the cool air, thankful for the protection from the windchill. As the exit slammed shut behind her, heavy and firm, she answered the call and pressed the phone to her ear.

“Hello Koichi.”

The man’s voice on the other line was gruff, his words oddly sober and without their usual intoxicated lacing. “Hey kiddo. How are you holding up?”

Sayaka stepped quietly over to the dumpster, knocking her shoe absently on the corner. “I’m fine. I’m with some old friends.”

“From Hope’s Peak?”

“Mhm.” She paused for a moment before adding, “They’ve taken wonderful care of me so far. You don’t have to worry about my safety.”

Koichi groaned. “I’m gonna worry regardless. I didn’t call you to make you feel like a kid though.”

“Well, calling me kiddo doesn’t exactly prove your case.” Regardless of her irritation, she couldn’t find it in her to be mad at Koichi. He’d been like her second dad, somehow balancing being her manager with his scouting for Hope’s Peak Academy. If anything, she had the utmost respect for him, and she’d always be grateful for him giving her a shot in the world.

“It’s a habit.” She could hear in his voice just how stressed he was.

_Sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise._

Sayaka cleared her throat, stepping away from the dumpster, all too reminded of this morning with Ibuki. With a shudder, she walked along the side of the building and over to the scooter, plopping down on the padded seat. “So then, what did you call me for?”

“Right. So, how about you meet with me and the girls tomorrow?” As Sayaka started to object, he continued. “I promise we’re not going to force you into anything. It’s not you if your heart isn’t in it. I just think we need to discuss this situation in person.”

“Hmm…,” Sayaka mused. “I’m bringing a friend. Three, actually. I’m sure that won’t be a problem, correct?”

She could hear him chuckle aside, murmuring something to someone else in the room. “Of course not. You can bring whoever you feel comfortable with. It’s just a talk, I promise. However, remember you are under contract, so if you decide to break that, there’s going to be some repercussions.”

“Right. Contract.” Truth be told, Sayaka tended to forget about these specifics, seeing touring as a hobby as well as a job. If you asked her the drawbacks of breaking her contract, she’d honestly not be able to tell you. “Well, I don’t intend to quit, but we can discuss this more tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow it is.”

With a soft bleep, Sayaka hung up the phone. Groaning, she leaned over and rest her forehead on Rantaro’s scooter. The last thing she wanted to do was ask Rantaro for yet another favor, but what choice did she have at this point? She wanted to cry at how kind he’d been to her so far and at the fear of him thinking she was taking advantage of him. If she was being honest with herself, she’d felt so alive in the few days they’d spent together, more of a person and less of a molded professional.

It was nice to act like a kid again.

Something bumping into the scooter, causing it to sway slightly, had Sayaka peeking up from her handlebar position. It was Kaito in all of his wheelchaired glory. At this point, you’d expect her to be surprised, but honestly, she’d gotten used to so much bullshit in the past couple of days, Kaito’s presence in a dark alley was nothing. On top of that, he wasn’t exactly threatening when he couldn’t walk more than three steps without collapsing to the ground.

“Why are you out here moping?” In the moonlight, she could see a glass in his hand that housed only ice and a box of cigarettes in his lap. Was everyone smoking these days? Is this what adulthood was? She’d ponder on this later.

Sayaka rested her cheek on her interlocked fingers, feigning a pleasant look. “I’m not moping.”

“Don’t lie to me. I’m psychic.”

Sayaka was pretty sure that was her line.

With a sigh, she sat up and held the handlebars, feeling their soft rubber give under her grip. “I’m meeting with my manager tomorrow.”

Kaito raised an eyebrow and slipped a cig from his box, spinning it lazily in his fingers. “That a bad thing?”

“I’m not sure anymore.” She frowned, looking up. The sky was dark, the light pollution drowning out any visible stars. “I’m just being a bother for everyone at this point. I’m supposed to be all gung-ho and peppy, but here I am, upset in an alley.”

“Woah, stop right there.” Kaito raised his hand and waved it back and forth. “You think you’re bothering everyone?”

Sayaka furrowed her brow, meeting Kaito’s piercing stare. “Of course, I am. I put Rantaro out of his bed. Makoto and Byakuya had to leave work to see me. Komaru cut my hair for free. I’m just mooching at this point.”

Kaito snorted. “You’re pretty clueless, aren’t ya?”

Sayaka blinked, unsure of how to reply to that. “Excuse me?”

“You’re all Makoto will talk about as of lately, according to Ibuki. She’s so pumped that you’re here as well, according to what Mahiru told me. Don’t let Byakuya get to you either. He’s useless.” Kaito took a swig of the melted ice water at the bottom of his glass. “And Rantaro? I don’t think you could ever upset him.”

Sayaka pursed her lips. That didn’t seem right. “He seemed pretty peeved at Byakuya yesterday.”

“No, I mean he can’t ever be upset at you.” Kaito pointed his stick of tobacco at Sayaka, smirking. “The guy’s…’smitten’ with you.”

Feeling her face heat up slightly, Sayaka broke Kaito’s eye contact and found great interest at the side of the building. “That can’t be right.”

“And you’re totally falling for him!” Kaito chuckled, slapping his armrest twice. “It’s like some romance novel written by a sad college student!”

“That’s oddly specific.”

“You’re evading the point,” Kaito declared, leaning forward in his chair and tapping Sayaka’s chin. She turned to him, figuring that’s what he wanted. “You’re gorgeous, smart, charismatic, talented, man, I could go on, but Mahiru’d kill me if she ever found out. What I’m getting at is Rantaro’d be stupid not to fall for you.”

Sayaka’s face was definitely red at his praise, though it was quite different than when she was with Rantaro. This felt like the praise of an older brother rather than someone who’s hand she wanted to feel nestled in her own. “Alright.”

“Alright?” Kaito leaned back in his chair and looked at her quizzically.

“I like him.”

“Well, yeah. You watch him like some lovesick puppy.” Kaito scratched the back of his head, deciding that perhaps a smoke wasn’t what he wanted. Moving to put away his cigarette, he held his hand up and dropped his cup, the glass crashing to the floor and shattering into pieces. With a huff, Kaito leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. “I fucking hate gravity.”

Sayaka attempted to hold back her laughter, but it bubbled to the surface and broke loose. Before she knew it, she was doubled over on the scooter, Kaito’s upset face eventually breaking into a similar grin and sheer dumbfoundment at the stupidity of the situation.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, she breathed heavily and sniffed. “You don’t know how much I needed that laugh.”

“I’d say anytime, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to pay for that,” Kaito muttered, amused but slightly bitter.

Rising from the scooter, she skipped over to the backdoor, her spirits significantly raised. “Thank you, Kaito. I owe you one.” With that, she yanked open the door, the familiar sound of rock music playing. Ibuki must have finished her act. Sayaka mentally chided herself for the relief she felt.

“Wait, waitwaitwait. You can repay me now.” Kaito wheeled himself weakly over to her and gestured behind him with his head. “Take me inside. Makoto left me out here. I can’t uh…,” Kaito’s face was slightly flushed in embarrassment. “I can’t open the door on my own.”

\---

As he was about to leave the table and search for Sayaka, she and Kaito appeared from goodness knows where. Rantaro felt his heart flip over at the way they chatted, wanting desperately to be the cause of that smile. As she met his eyes, the idol lifted her hand in a little wave before reaching the destination and positioning Kaito back against the table side of the table-booth-thing.

“You two seem like you’re having fun,” Rantaro commented, sliding her drink over to him.

“Kaito’s a good emotional speaker,” Sayaka admitted, nodding at both of the men.

Kaito’s smug grin caused Rantaro to knock him on the back of the head, the astronaut letting out a small ‘ow’ at the contact.

“So, what was that talk all about?”

Rantaro could have sworn he saw Sayaka’s face turn the palest of pink. Or perhaps it was the lights? He shrugged it off.

Finishing off her drink, Sayaka leaned forward. She smelled of cranberry juice. “We’re meeting with my manager tomorrow. I said I’m bringing some friends.”

Rantaro nodded. “Let me guess, Kyoko and Makoto?”

Sayaka pushed his shoulder gently, her smile reassuringly warm. “And you. You’re my representative.”

Rantaro’s face probably let out more surprise than he wanted to show, because Kaito kicked his leg far too hard for his liking. Rubbing his shin, Rantaro slapped his neutral face back on. “Since when? And why me?”

Sayaka leaned back and said matter-of-fact, “Now. And because you’re my favorite person here.”

If happiness could kill a man, we’d be holding Rantaro’s funeral at this moment. With a determined look, absolve resolve steeling his nerves, Rantaro downed the rest of his drink.

“I won’t let you down.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“Listen, I don’t want to interrupt the moment here but uh..,” Kaito spun around in his chair before getting the attention of the green and silver haired ones. “Where’s Makoto?”

Looking around the bar, Sayaka pointed to a small form curled up at the bottom of the stage, tucked with his knees against his chest, snoozing on his side. With an awkward look from one to another, they all decided it was perhaps for the best to let that run its course, Ibuki sure to come out and get the poor drunk man…

...Hopefully.


End file.
